Game of Hearts

by Jerry Cole

  Chapter Fourteen

  Mickey was trying his best not to freak out in front of Syn, but he couldn’t help it. He felt incredibly panicked—no, not just panicked. There was something else there. Something that Mickey wasn’t sure how he was supposed to even start processing, because it wasn’t something that he had ever felt before. It was like a mixture of disappointment and anger. He knew that he had no right to be this angry at Bjorn, but he couldn’t help himself.

  Bjorn had been the one who had chosen to leave the hotel with him in the first place. Mickey had been ready to turn around and walk away from Bjorn forever, but Bjorn had been the one to hug him. Bjorn had been the one that had asked him to go to the vending machine with him. Bjorn had been the one who told him that he was confused; he had been the one who had decided to lay his head on Mickey’s chest. Mickey had put all his cards on the table and Bjorn knew exactly what he wanted. Mickey wanted him. He had been stupid about it, sure, but he hadn’t done anything but talk to Bjorn.

  Well, that wasn’t. He had wanted to kiss him. He had done his best to stop himself from doing anything, though, because he knew that Bjorn needed to be the one who to initiate anything. Mickey hadn’t expected him to, but Bjorn actually had. He had put his head on Mickey’s chest, and as much as Bjorn wanted to pretend that it was nothing, that it was a joke, Mickey knew that it was something. He had been able to tell because of the way that Bjorn’s heart was thumping under the touch of his hand. Or at least that’s what he had felt like, but maybe he had been wrong. Maybe he didn’t understand Bjorn at all.

  “Are you okay?”

  “Am I okay? Sure, I’m alright. I’m fucking fantastic,” Mickey replied. “The guy I have a crush on wants to make it into some sort of joke. Because not only are my sexual orientation and I a joke, oh no, the actual guy I have a crush on wants it to be a joke, too. A joke that I have to participate in because I have to. Because it’s totally cool to make light of the fact that I’m gay, right? It’s like, ‘Haha, there goes Atlanta, the cocksucker.’ Because that’s all I am to these people, right? A fucking cocksucker. I can be the best player in the world, and I’m still a punch line in their jokes. And do you want to hear what the fun part of that entire thing is?”

  Syn cocked his head, his eyes closed. “I have a feeling this isn’t going to be very fun.”

  “The fun part,” Mickey replied, ignoring him. “The fun part is that I get to participate in that. Because I got involved with a goddamn straight boy. During a tournament. Now I get to cover everyone’s asses by making myself into a fucking joke. No, it couldn’t be, ‘Oh, Atlanta found a boyfriend at the World of Heroes tournament.’ It’s, ‘Oh, Atlanta is fucking around with this cute newcomer because he’s so fucking gay and isn’t that just the most hilarious thing you’ve ever heard?’”

  He lay back down on the bed and stared at the ceiling. His mouth was shut so tightly that his teeth were grinding against each other, something he only noticed when there was silence.

  “I’m sorry,” Syn finally said. “I know it’s probably cold comfort, but for what it’s worth, I don’t think you’re a joke.”

  “I know,” Mickey replied, smiling thinly and putting the back of his palm over his eyes to block out the light. “And I appreciate that. I do. You’re such a good friend. Unfortunately, I don’t want to have sex with you.”

  “So you want to have sex with him?”

  “I don’t just want to have sex with him, Syn,” Mickey replied. “That’s what I’m saying. I was getting to know him last night, and I like, I don’t know, I really liked him. I thought—anyway, I’m an absolute knob and it doesn’t matter anyway.”

  “Yeah,” Syn said softly. “I know. It sounded like you really liked him.”

  “Right, I really did,” Mickey replied. “Which goes back to the fact that I’m an absolute knob.”

  “I think you just wanted to believe him,” Syn said, so quietly that it was almost a whisper.

  “I know,” Mickey said. “So what does it make me, then? A chump?”

  Syn shrugged, shaking his head. “Well, don’t take my word for it, but I think it probably makes you a normal person.”

  Mickey smiled, though he was sure that his smile was shaky.

  Chapter Fifteen

  He wasn’t sure what it was, exactly, but Bjorn’s team flew through the rest of the qualifiers. Any game that they had to play that day, they won, and easily. They were all tuned into the same thing, and they were all paying attention. There was also the fact that they had far more to prove than they had before, something that Bjorn didn’t love. At least he appreciated how it was pushing them toward being better, and the rest of the team seemed to find it motivating. As they kept walking out of the glass enclosure and onto the stage, every time to thunderous applause, Bjorn looked at Mickey’s seat. It wasn’t filled, and he knew that no one else could take it, since VIP seats were strictly enforced.

  Bjorn was trying not to make it obvious that he kept staring longingly at Mickey’s seat. He wanted to show Mickey how good he was, how he had gotten there on merit. How he wasn’t just doing things like this just because they were fun, but rather because he had worked at it. It didn’t matter, though. He could keep looking at Mickey’s seat for the rest of the day, and nothing would happen. Mickey wasn’t showing up; he was likely not going to show up for the rest of the day. Every time Bjorn closed his eyes, he could see Mickey’s face. His green eyes were shining, but not the same way that they normally did. He was digging his fingertips into the skin on his arms, and he looked like he was about to start shaking. There was no other word to describe how Mickey looked; he seemed enraged. Bjorn had thought, when he had first heard Carpenter’s idea, that Mickey might have been a little hurt. He hadn’t predicted that Mickey would actually be angry. It made sense; he just wished that he wasn’t. He didn’t want him to be.

  “Dude,” Pink said, when they had walked back into the glass enclosure. It wasn’t actual glass, Bjorn didn’t think; the name stuck from the early tournaments. It was made of something like clear plastic so that the cameras could film them without being up in their space. It also allowed them to talk freely without the fear that the other team would hear them. Unfortunately, it was kind of difficult to see the crowd from inside there, so Bjorn had to wait until he was outside of the enclosure to look for Mickey.

  “What?” Bjorn finally replied when he was about to put his headset back on.

  “You need to cool it,” Pink said. “If you want the plan to work, you can’t keep looking at Atlanta’s seat with those abandoned, lovelorn, puppy dog eyes. People are going to know what’s going on between you guys.”

  “There’s nothing going between us,” Bjorn replied, far more defensively than he wanted to.

  “Okay, look, whatever is happening with you,” Pink said, dropping his voice down to a whisper. “I understand that it’s a big deal, okay? And as your friend, I’m totally here for you. But you were the one who convinced us to come here, and if your head isn’t in the game, there isn’t any way we’re going to win this. You’ve been taking out your own anger or whatever in the game, and that’s fine, but all that adrenaline is going to be replaced soon, and you’re going to crash. And when you crash, you’re not going to be as good.”

  Bjorn nodded and swallowed. “Look, I get it. I do. It’s just—”

  “I get that it’s hard, I do,” Pink held his hand up, interrupting him. “But your profession is pretty important, right?”

  “Right,” Bjorn replied. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”

  “It’s okay,” Pink said. “Just stay the course. You can talk to him about it after the day is over, right?”

  Bjorn’s eyes widened as his heartbeat quickened. “You think he’ll talk to me?”

  “Head in the game, Al,” Pink replied. Bjorn nodded and put his head down, looking at the monitor in front of him.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Bjorn wasn’t sure what happened exactly, but it was
over quickly. AlphaChew had won, once again, and Carpenter, Carl, and Pink were all celebrating. Bjorn wanted to feel like celebrating, but he still didn’t. He still felt like talking to Mickey had changed everything, and he wasn’t happy at all, even though he knew he should be. If it had been any other time, if it had been before meeting Mickey, he was sure that he would be celebrating, too. They only had to get through one more day of games, and they would become part of the semifinals. They were the underdogs, the rising stars, and Bjorn was sure that he was going to be expected to give interviews and spend the rest of his night out and about, doing stuff he didn’t want to do. He just wanted to go to bed, get under the sheets, and not think about anything. He wanted to forget that anything had ever happened between Mickey and him in the first place. He just wanted to be back to the way he was on the first day, full of hope, a little worried, but at least not about something like this.

  Not about hurting Mickey’s feelings, anyway. He knew that he owed him an apology, but it wasn’t as though he could just go back up to his room. People weren’t just watching Mickey now; they were watching Bjorn, too. They were sure to report on any activities that he took part in. This wasn’t something he had prepared for. He had anticipated his win, sure, but it was more in terms of what he would do with the money, how he would reinvest in the team, how he would finally buy himself a bed. It wasn’t about what the reporters were going to cover, what the internet comments were going to say. That had never even crossed his mind, not until he saw all the people with cameras outside. Pink had told him to keep his head in the game, and he was trying to. He really was. It was just that Mickey still hadn’t showed up, and Bjorn had really wanted him to be proud of him.

  It didn’t matter, though. Bjorn had made his bed. The fact that he was winning was cold comfort, but it was better than nothing. As he stepped outside to the stage, as his team took a bow, Bjorn tried to think of what he would say to Mickey when he bumped into him. He couldn’t exactly go back to his room again without someone seeing him and telling the rest of the internet about it. For a second, Bjorn wondered if his mother was seeing what people were saying about him. He got the thought out of his head when he realized that she wouldn’t even know what was happening in a World of Heroes game. She probably wouldn’t know what was happening in his life unless she asked, and what exactly was he going to tell her? “Something may or have not happened. I’m still not sure how I feel about it.” That hardly seemed like information that she needed to have.

  He was about to get off stage when he felt an arm slung around him. He recognized the smell before his brain could process what was happening, and then the arm was pushing him closer to Mickey’s hard body, Mickey holding him in a tight embrace. Then Mickey was pressing his lips against Bjorn’s cheek, warm and soft and lovely, the kiss lasting for way less time than Bjorn wanted it to. He stood there, his arms at his side, completely still. He was still trying to process what was happening when he felt Mickey’s lips press on the outside of his ear. Mickey sent a shiver down his spine when he opened his mouth and breathed softly into Bjorn’s ear. When he spoke, his voice was low and harsh. “This is what you wanted, right? It’s a joke. I’m doing what you fucking told me to do.”

  “This isn’t—this isn’t what I wanted,” Bjorn replied, so quietly that he was almost sure that Mickey hadn’t actually heard him.

  “Whatever,” Mickey whispered harshly in his ear, to Bjorn’s surprise. “Just smile and wave. If it’s supposed to be funny to you, then you’re supposed to play into the joke. Got it?”

  Bjorn nodded, slowly. He tried his best to smile as he felt Mickey’s grip tighten around him. Then the crowd erupted in applause again, and he forgot what he was supposed to be doing, feeling only Mickey’s arm around him, his skin touching him through the fabric of their clothes.

  ***

  As soon as it was over, Bjorn was supposed to leave the stage with the rest of his team. Except that he couldn’t do that, because Mickey had basically stormed off, still smiling, but only for the benefit of the people in the crowd. Bjorn knew that the only way he was going to be able to talk to him was if he caught him before he left. Otherwise, if it was too late, he was pretty sure that Mickey was going to shoot him down and hard. And why wouldn’t he? After all, Bjorn didn’t deserve for Mickey to listen to him. The way he had just addressed him had been so harsh, so aggressive. And it wasn’t as though Bjorn could say anything. Mickey was right. He didn’t even have to explain himself; there was nothing that Mickey had to say to make Bjorn realize how awful he had been. He had known it even that morning.

  Even if Mickey didn’t like him—and at this point, why Mickey would like him at all made very little sense—he still shouldn’t be asked to mock his identity just because some two-bit player in a different team got in over his head. That was all that had happened. Bjorn had wanted to tell him that when he had first seen him, when he had first asked him if he would go along to Carpenter’s plan. It had felt wrong when he had first asked for it, but it was only when he heard the hurt in Mickey’s voice that he realized just how wrong it was. Not just how hurtful it had been for him, but how wrong it had been for Bjorn to ask him to do it in the first place. He wished that the first time that Mickey had kissed him, even on the cheek, it hadn’t been under those circumstances. He had wanted to turn around and kiss him on the lips, tell him how sorry he was, press himself against him.

  Well. That hadn’t happened.

  Instead, he was walking quickly after him. Mickey was tall and his strides so long that it would have been hard for Bjorn to keep up with him anyway, but he was walking away in a way that was both brisk and angry, all while seeming entirely playful for the cameras. He was so good at it; it was hard for Bjorn to remember that he had had a ton of practice. That this was part of his career, and that Bjorn was the only person in the world who knew how mad he was.

  Bjorn finally managed to catch up to him, walking as briskly as he could. He wrapped his hand around Mickey’s bicep and tugged at him until Mickey finally stopped in his tracks. Mickey turned to look at him, his eyes small and his mouth a straight line, then he scoffed. “What?”

  “Look, can we just—can we talk, please? In private,” he said quietly. He was sure that he looked like he was pleading, but he didn’t care.

  “Are you sure you want people to see you going into a room with me? Then it may not be a joke, and what could you do then?”

  “Please,” Bjorn replied, casting his gaze to the floor. “It’ll just be a minute, okay?”

  “Fine,” Mickey said, rolling his eyes. “If you’re sure.”

  “I’m sure,” Bjorn said. “Please.”

  “Fine,” Mickey said again. “There’s nowhere here. It’s going to have to be at the hotel. That alright?”

  “Yes,” Bjorn replied, trying to swallow down the knot in his throat. “Totally fine.”

  They walked together, saying nothing, until they were out of the arena. Bjorn wanted to say something, but the moment that he opened his mouth to speak, Mickey took his phone out of his pocket and stuck it in front of his face. Once again, before Bjorn could process what he was doing, Mickey pushed a few buttons on his screen.

  “We’re live,” Mickey said, a huge smile on his face. It didn’t quite reach his eyes, but it wasn’t as though the viewers would be able to tell that through their screens. Mickey made a couple of smooching sounds, pointing his face at Bjorn. Then he scrunched up his face and looked into the camera. When he spoke, his voice was way higher than it normally sounded. “This is the coolest couple in all of e-sports, if I do say so myself! Al’s done so well today, and I couldn’t be any prouder of my wonderful, squishy, cute-as-fuck boyfriend!”

  Bjorn’s eyes widened as he slowly realized what was happening. This was what he wanted; it was what he had gone up to Mickey’s room to request in the first place. He knew why it felt so shitty, and every word that Mickey said, it was like a fresh dagger in his heart.

  “Say s
omething to our fans, cutie pie!” Mickey said, winking at him.

  Bjorn raised his hand up to wave, his voice shaking when he finally spoke. “Hi, everyone. How are y’all doing?”

  “Aww,” Mickey said, looking back into the camera. “My poor baby is tired after a long day of winning. I’m going to go take care of my man, if you guys know what I mean!”

  Mickey’s expression sobered up as he clicked the ‘end broadcast’ button. He glared at Bjorn for a few seconds, as if daring him to say anything that might defy what he had just done. Bjorn had nothing, though. He followed Mickey back to his suite, keeping his head down.

  He knew that his apology better be good.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Mickey waited until Bjorn was inside before he closed the door behind him. He did it softly, quietly. Partly, it was so he wouldn’t call attention to the fact that Bjorn had walked into his room as if it was the most natural thing ever. But another, bigger part of him, knew that the real reason was that he felt sorry for what he had just done. What Bjorn had pulled was a shitty move, but he had asked for his consent. As stupid and misguided as it had been, he hadn’t just tried to hide it without him knowing. That had to be worth something. There was also the fact that he looked like a kicked puppy as he stepped into the room, his head tilted down, his gaze firmly on the floor. His hands were fisted by his sides, and if Mickey didn’t know better, he would have thought that he was crying.

  But Mickey did know better. Straight boys didn’t cry over humiliating gay boys. No, they took pride in it; they liked it. He knew that it might not look like it to him then, but Bjorn was only trying to make him feel sorry for him. Humiliating him and then making him an active participant in his humiliation might not have been Bjorn’s idea, but it was close enough that he was the one at fault. Mickey knew he’d have still gone through with it; he understood the logic behind it, but it had hurt him far more than he liked to admit. Even when he was melting down in front of Syn, he wanted to rein it in. He didn’t want to appear as the idiot that he felt. He might have softened when he was looking at Bjorn, if it hadn’t been for that. On top of making him look like a joke in front of everyone, he had ended up making him look like a joke in front of his best friend in the world. Syn was one of the only people in the world that Mickey felt comfortable being emotional around, but even that had limits. His Britishness mandated those boundaries, which were hard and should never be crossed. As good as friends as the two of them were, the last thing that Mickey ever wanted to do was make Syn feel uncomfortable. That was exactly what he had achieved. Because of Bjorn. So really, it was exactly what Bjorn had achieved.